


like begets like, death begets death

by jaguarbird



Series: you bring out the worst in me [1]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, CMNF, Canon Related, Character Study, F/M, God Complex, Praise Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Voice Kink, porn with minor plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaguarbird/pseuds/jaguarbird
Summary: She kicks herself for admitting it. She shouldn't think thisterroristis attractive in any sense. She shouldn't be having this conversation in the first place.She shouldn't have agreed to provide him research materials. A voidout would have been better.Morana knows she's never made great decisions.
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: you bring out the worst in me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570156
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	like begets like, death begets death

**Author's Note:**

> Okay listen I can explain-
> 
> Higgs is a bastard eyeliner gremlin and I really like dark themes.
> 
> In all seriousness, this does revolve around some relatively heavy stuff. It's not romance, it's not redemption. Nothing good will come from this. And if that's something you don't wanna witness, then please don't subject yourself to my trash.
> 
> Also, OC is an anthropologist, as am I. I do have small blips of general terminology tossed in here but there should be enough context to explain it all.
> 
>  **Edit as of 12/06/20:** Hi I know this story has been out a while but in recently rewatching a playthrough I realized I made some mistakes in the game's timeline. So the only edit is near the start, Morana's minor background. It's nothing significant to alter the rest of the events, just more to give myself some peace of mind with trying to incorporate my character into the established story.
> 
> Come yell at me about bastard men [here.](https://jaguarbird.tumblr.com/)

"A shame such _bullshit_ comes from a pretty mouth."

"Oh, you think I'm _pretty_?"

The question makes Morana pause, accusatory finger held in the air, jaw slack. Hazel eyes narrow at Higgs, who is smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

These are the moments she wishes he still wore his mask around her.

"Objectively speaking," she says, steady voice surprising her, "your attractiveness is only surpassed by your psychotic tendencies." It's meant to be an insult, somehow, but he sees it as the best compliment he's heard all week, a wicked glee flicking across his half-covered face.

She kicks herself for admitting it. She shouldn't think this _terrorist_ is attractive in any sense. She shouldn't be having this conversation in the first place.

She shouldn't have agreed to provide him research materials. A voidout would have been better.

Morana knows she's never made great decisions.

Acquiring an education in anthropology had seemed like the smart thing to do. The world of the dead clashed with the world of the living decades ago, and so much of humanity's history was lost in the process. Her profession would be highly sought after, sure, but the most challenging. A concept she didn't mind, not when she could help do her part to bring America back together.

Morana thought the decision to be worthwhile, not knowing that by the Bridges I expedition she would be one of the few remaining scholars to harbor such precious knowledge. Then again, it pays to be a traditionalist and retain as many physical copies as possible of everything in her possession.

The UCA had been quick to seek her out, offering her a position on a research team headed by a polite gentleman known as Heartman, with colleagues handpicked by Amelie Strand herself. Morana was shipped out to Mountain Knot City from her home in Central Knot, her bunker situated not far from Heartman's home. A promising start to a demanding career.

However, a year or so into her new position, trouble came knocking on her door, dressed with a face of death.

Higgs hadn't so much as proposed an offer as he'd made an ultimatum: allow him access to any of her research findings related to human history and culture, or the heart-shaped lake and the mountains surrounding it turns into a massive handprint.

She had unwillingly agreed to his terms, though she posed the question: why her?

 _Simple_ , he had said, _I'm curious_.

Nothing is ever simple with Higgs, Morana realized that soon enough. Every single thing he does has multiple meanings, some ulterior motive he keeps hidden under that intimidating guise.

That's why, right now, she knew she should have just kept her mouth shut. Shouldn't have given him a chance to twist her words around in his favor.

(She also shouldn't have gotten too familiar with him over the past year or so.

She hates how amicable and halfway charming he can appear to be and how she falls for it each time. She drinks down his lies like it keeps her alive.

Maybe it does.)

"So you _do_ think I'm pretty!" Higgs proclaims, arms spread wide in his usual theatrics, taking slow, measured steps towards her desk. Fight-or-flight begs her to stand up from her chair, to not be backed into a corner by his imposing self. But Morana resists it, stubborn to hold her ground. This is _her_ home, after all.

"I never said that." She distracts herself with papers and books, pushes fingers through dark, curly locks, rearranges supplies around her desk for the umpteenth time.

His footsteps stop, the sound replaced by the creaking of old wood as he leans over. A gloved hand cups and lifts her chin, forces her to look at him, invades her personal space. She lets him.

"You don't have to," Higgs drawls, because he knows what that does to her. Sees it in the dilation of her pupils, hears it in the faint shift of her breathing, feels the tension in her jaw as she swallows lightly. He claims himself to be many things, observant is absolutely one of them.

He moves closer and draws in a sharp inhale, eyes shutting briefly before flashing open. His grin grows wider. "I can _smell_ it on you."

Morana stares him down with daggers, though she's unsure if she loathes him or herself more. Her attempt at being combative brings a chuckle out of him. His thumb gently drags across her lower lip before he suddenly moves away, pivoting on the spot and clasping his hands at the small of his back.

"I'll be back in a week, I hope you'll have something for me by then." Higgs doesn't even look back to her as he talks -- no, commands. The heavy _thunk_ of him jumping out rocks her to the core, finally allows herself to let out a shaky breath.

Her tongue swipes the same path that his thumb took, gathering the warmth in its wake, draws it between her teeth to knead out the feeling.

Morana knows she's never made great decisions.

\---

Higgs always keeps his promises, for good or for bad. He returns exactly a week later, bypassing the perimeter sensors and jumping directly inside the bunker. Morana is used to it by now, keeps her moderate space tidy in anticipation of random visits. She's even taken to showering at ungodly hours of the morning to avoid being startled by him.

Thankfully this time she's not huddled behind her desk, instead standing before her massive bookcase to find the right texts for her research. There's a book missing, she taps a finger in front of the empty slot.

"Higgs," she says as she slowly turns around to face him, arms crossed tightly at her chest.

"Morana," he answers and she hates the way his voice forms around her name, how it crawls up her spine.

"Where's my _Funerary Customs of the Ancient World_?"

Like the smug bastard that he is, he puts on a face of faux innocence, shrugs his shoulders and presents his palms. It only irritates her further, evident in her deepened scowl. She closes the distance between them and silently asks for the book with an upturned hand and an expectant look.

"I don't have it." He wiggles his fingers to emphasize his point. Morana suppresses the urge to punch him square in that _fucking mouth_. "You sure you didn't just… misplace it?"

Her extended hand turns inward to pinch the bridge of her nose as she lets out an exasperated sigh. "If I don't see it back on that shelf in the next five seconds I'm gonna-"

"You're gonna do _what_ , sweetheart?" Higgs gets too close, takes advantage of their height difference, and his voice drops a few octaves to rumble in his chest. It makes her gut coil into knots.

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with a mix of fury and fear, and he eats it up with a subtle violence that fucks her up even more.

"Higgs, wait, please," Morana stumbles over her words, both hands raised in defense. "I just- I need it to finish this document. You're a little earlier than I had hoped you'd be, I'll need another few hours to complete everything for you. I'd like it back, _please_."

A predatory grin splits his face. "You're _adorable_ when you beg."

He snaps his fingers and the familiar resonating sound of something popping into existence comes from behind her. She doesn't thank him, just turns to grab the returned book and drops herself into the desk chair.

There's a stretch of silence that settles between them as she works, falling into the tedious rhythm of reading and writing. Higgs resolves to preoccupying himself with perusing her book collection, the curiosity not lost on her.

"I'm not a bookshop, you know," Morana speaks up finally, eyes drifting over towards him holding another text open in his hands. "If you want the research I can provide, you can't just take any book without me knowing. At least give me a heads up and have the _slightest_ decency to give it back on your next visit."

She knows he doesn't take kindly to being ordered around, but she can dangle their deal above his head to sway his behavior, even just a little bit.

"You've got an hour to finish." Displeasure laced into his tone. With that, he jumps out of the bunker, book still in hand, the sting of ozone lingering behind.

God, she fucking _hates_ him.

\---

Morana never questions what Higgs does with her research, it's never really been her place to know. Which, in truth, is fine by her, it minimizes the guilt she already feels for working with a terrorist group. Whatever reason he may have, it placates him enough to put her on his good side.

Does he even _have_ a good side?

 _Well, there is a_ different _type of good side_ \- No. No, that train of thought needs to stop immediately.

She's had a long day, spent endless hours taking notes and scanning images and tracking missing bits of information. This current project isn't for Higgs, however, it's for Heartman. Something about pictographs uncovered in a cave system in the mountains from a Native American tribe over a thousand years ago, detailing a legend based around a large-scale 'rebirth' event.

It's not her area of interest but it's still within her profession -- it's hard having a track in physical anthropology with no real way to use it anymore. Death is no longer the same. The American way of death is solely cremations (Jessica Mitford would be pleased).

Speaking of Higgs, she hasn't seen him for some time. Part of her considers it a blessing, being ignored. Another part of her, one she's failed time and again to repress fully, is saddened by his absence.

At least he's afforded her time to work on her real job, feels like she's actually helping out the cause and not hindering it on an unknown scale. Either way, it's daunting work.

The ache in her stomach draws Morana from her thoughts. Seems like a late night pizza delivery is in order.

A brief moment at the terminal sends out the request, promising the cargo within the next hour. Quite a while to wait for pizza, but she knows traversing this landscape is never an easy task. In the meantime, she busies herself with cleaning up her work space, making sure to triple-save her documents as well.

Not ten minutes later, a rhythmic knock resounds on the bunker door. Strange, considering porters tend to use the provided cargo exchange at the terminal. A peek at the external camera shows there is indeed a porter waiting at the entrance.

The hydraulic seal lifts from the door as it opens just enough for Morana to stick half her body out. "Uh… yes?"

"Delivery for Morana Struna," says the porter, face partially obscured by the baseball cap on their head, the shadows of night further blurring their features. With some caution, she takes a few steps out from behind the door, doing her best to put a polite smile on her face as she reaches for the pizza.

"Thank you ve-" The words get stuck in her throat once she's close enough to figure out the porter's appearance. She gasps, hands hovering outward dumbly. The porter brings a gloved finger up towards his smirking mouth. Finding mobility again, she grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him inside the bunker, head whipping left and right to check if anyone else was around before shutting the door.

"Higgs, what the _fuck_!" Morana snatches the pizza from his grasp and sets it down on the dining table.

"Hey, careful with that. I want a good rating on my delivery." He sounds completely serious, she almost believes him.

"Why did you- no, _how_ did you get my request?" She doesn't want to know why, she's only asked once and she wants to leave it that way.

"On a terminal, like every other request," he responds like it's the dumbest question he's ever received. It probably is.

Morana takes another moment to calm herself before opening up the container to remove the pizza box. She's surprised a jump to his Beach and back didn't turn the pizza cold, or rotten.

Forgoing plates, she grabs a slice and bites into it. Yet she quickly grows self-conscious for eating in front of Higgs, who's still hanging around with that stupid, satisfied half-smile that mocks everything she does.

"Do you want a piece?" She's unsure what to do with his company when it's not about handing off documents.

"No, no. It's all _yours_." The way he drags out his tone instantly makes her suspicious of the pizza, hoping he hadn't tampered with it in any way. Too late, though, she's already swallowed a few bites.

Morana sets down the half-eaten slice then lightly flicks crumbs from her fingers. "So, did you need something? More research? Another book?"

Higgs perks up at the latter and strolls past her to the bookshelf. "Oh, _perhaps_. Though I'm having a hard time deciding which subject to read next."

She stands next to him, eyes scanning over the spines, having memorized exactly which book resided where. She takes pride in her organizational skills, one of the few things left that she still likes about herself. 

"Alright, what are my options?" She knows she sounds annoyed but she doesn't care to hide it anymore.

"Either something on physical objects that are meant to connect to the other side, or another skeletal analysis."

Immediately, she begins parsing through the titles, resulting in two books. She almost defaults to the human osteology texts, some of her favorites among the collection, but she feels that the first option would be more interesting to him. A weird little part of her is giddy over him taking personal interest in her profession, but she also knows it's false hope that amounts to nothing.

"Here's a compilation of ethnographic reports from then-living societies about objects of ritualistic significance," she says, passing it over to him, "And this one offers extensive detail on grave goods spanning numerous time periods. I'll give you longer than just your next visit to finish them both, if you'd like." When she stands from her crouched position, she almost flinches from how close Higgs had gotten.

"How _kind_ of you, Morana." His smile is sickly sweet. "All this, just for a pizza."

She takes a half step back, creates a little space between them. Not so much because of him but more because of herself. Because she's about to smack herself for the words that come out of her. "Sometimes a reward for my hard work helps to reinforce my generosity."

The little inaudible _oh_ he makes is enough to trigger the crazy idea of finding a needle and thread to sew her mouth up for good.

"A _reward_." Higgs scoffs out a laugh, nodding minutely, then gestures back to the open box. "Like, pizza?"

Morana hides her fidgeting hands at the small of her back and takes another half step back. "No, but I mean… it's a start."

He's still laughing, breathy and incredulous, and uses the chance to send the two books to wherever he stores them with a gentle toss. She's still leaning her weight away from him, trying to develop some distance. Cautiously she starts to laugh with him, nervous of his present reaction, but makes a decent attempt at sounding genuine.

That is until he slams his hands against the bookshelf, rattling its contents, effectively boxing her in. He's uncomfortably close, the smile no longer present on his hardened face, kohl-lined eyes scrutinizing her every movement. She's quiet aside from her labored breathing, but her expression is full of terror. It only fuels him.

"Is letting you live not _enough_ for you?" There's a harsh edge to his voice, causes her to shrink down a bit. "And here I thought I'd given you the greatest reward of all. What else could you possibly want more than _that_ , hm?"

He's not shouting, not dramatically monologuing, and that's somehow _worse_. It reminds her who exactly she has a deal with, who holds all the fucking cards in this little game. She's stunned into silence, unable to take her eyes off him for fear of being caught off guard (again). When she doesn't answer him in a timely manner, Higgs presses impossibly closer and pins her to the bookshelf with his weight.

The faint flutter of eyelids and the tiny inhale makes him pause. Oh, now _that's_ interesting. And while he'd like to pick and dig and scour that part of her conscience, he knows it's not the right time. Not yet. He'll let it fester first.

"That's what I thought," he mutters, tight-lipped, "and don't you _fucking_ forget that." He jumps abruptly, away from her, away from the bunker.

The cold air that replaces him sobers Morana up just enough to slide herself down to the floor and curl up on her side, silently weeping out the shock and frustrations.

\---

Their meetings go back to normal in the following months, sparse and cordial. Higgs still takes books without asking but she's too scared to confront him about it. Yet he's been mindful to avoid her current projects' topics and does return them on a semi-regular basis.

Her focus on Heartman's tasks have kept her going for the most part. They've made some connections between the pictographs and a possible previous Death Stranding, but more work has to be done outside her scope of knowledge. He does, however, provide her with some side requests in exchange for scanned copies of his own book collection.

Morana drowns herself in the work, tries desperately to keep her mind off, well, whatever the hell kind of fantasy she's been subconsciously latching on to. She knows it's dangerous, and she knows she likes it _because_ it's dangerous.

Maybe cabin fever has finally gotten the best of her.

It's not like she can go strolling around outside. The snow is unforgiving and she's not a DOOMS sufferer. Getting stuck in a freak blizzard with BTs is the absolute last thing she wants to experience.

She contacts Heartman to request some old movies and shows that are too long for him to watch given his biological state. A porter arrives with the parcel half a week later. The media alleviates some of the stress and provides enough entertainment to keep her interested.

Just as soon as Morana has fallen back into routine, brain sufficiently distracted, Higgs disrupts all order and sends her right back down the rabbit hole. Not initially, no. She's not broken that easily. But bit by bit, piece by piece, he gets through.

It's not even one thing; it's _many_ things, many little things.

Slowly, he works his way back into her personal space. Stands just a hair too close. Brushes his fingers on hers when he takes the document drives. Swipes curly strands from her face. Touches forearms, shoulders, back, neck-

The snide commentary he gives only adds insult to injury. The sly smiles and lingering looks rub salt into all the wounds from this torture.

It's too much, too overwhelming. But she doesn't fucking stop him.

And Higgs knows it, too. He can tell beyond normal senses that she's trying so hard not to crumble apart under the pressure. It's endearing to some extent, but that's another secret he's going to keep from her. No, she can stay inside her own head with all of this, create some kind of coping mechanism that makes her more dependent on him. Let her think that this means something to him.

It doesn't. It never will.

And maybe Morana is aware of it all, that she's being led on like a collared dog. Such imagery isn't lost on him -- but again, _secrets_.

He decides one day to fuck with her even more, tamper with this balanced schedule that she thinks he lives by. It's morning, before sunrise, and she's taking her time in the shower. Hair thoroughly washed, body scrubbed clean of daily grime. The auto-dry system is enough to wick all the water from her skin, but her hair is too long for it to work properly. So she dresses for bed in a threadbare tank and short briefs, eager to catch another three hour nap before resuming her research, and blow-dries her hair.

It's then he shows up, while she's at the edge of the bed with her head turned down and hair flipped forward, the drone of the blow-dryer covering up the sound of his jump. But it only takes her a moment to realize the shift in the air, the presence of ozone and salt water.

Morana curses and nearly jumps out of her pale skin, blow-dryer tumbling out of her hand to the bed as she tries to cover herself up. Arms fold up at her chest, her legs cross snugly over each other.

"Y-you're not supposed to be here right now." She's a stuttering, fidgeting mess, a deer caught in headlights, and he is _delighted_ by this.

"Am I?" He counters with a slight tilt of his head, lopsided grin ever present. His unhurried saunter brings him closer to the bed. "I didn't know visiting hours were so restricted."

(Just another reminder that her bunker has become less of a home and more of a prison.)

"No, it's just- I don't-"

Higgs has had enough of the slow crawl and opts for phasing through the space to end up leaning over her, gloved forefinger barely pressed to her lips to silence her. His gentle _shh_ raises the little hairs at the nape of her neck.

"I know, I get it. We all need some… _personal_ time. But you do know the only real private place is that shower over there. So I think your personal time is up." The finger at her mouth moves upward and to the side, starts twirling a half-dried lock of hair around the digit. The attention makes her nostrils flare, briefly, but he still catches it.

"What do you want?" The defiance in her voice, albeit shaky, is enough to give her some false confidence. Morana lifts her chest slightly, squares her shoulders, tightens her jaw.

"What do you _think_ I want?"

His question confuses her, evident in the furrowing of her dark brows. What else could he ever want from her? It's only her knowledge, her books, her research, her _usefulness_. So she tells him as such, negating the last part. "I've been sidetracked by a few menial things, I know, but I can offer you another data analysis at the end of the day."

Higgs laughs, but she learned from last time and doesn't laugh along. He unwinds the strand and ruffles her hair lightly before standing upright. She remains stock-still in the same spot, frozen in fear.

"Oh, sweetheart." That fucking _drawl_ slips through her ears, wraps around her brain, and drags her under the metaphorical tar. "You're really _cute_ when you're so dense."

The faintest of flushes paints the high points of her cheekbones in a dusting of pink. But she can barely register the warm tingle when her whole body is shivering under his icy gaze.

"Why don't you get some sleep? I'll be back later for the analysis." He's all smiles and pleasantries, sticks around just long enough to make her panic worsen, then vanishes with an echoing chuckle.

Sleep comes quickly but fitfully after that. The ache in her head at war with the ache in her heart.

\---

Finally, _finally_ , Morana is back on the chiral network thanks to this solo Bridges porter making the rounds across the continent. She meets him in passing through the terminal, thanks him a thousand times over for the artifacts and access to the network's databanks. He doesn't say much but there's a kindness in his eyes that makes her want to cry.

She hasn't seen such authentic emotion in a very long time.

Unfortunately, he can't stay long in the mountains, eager to move west past the gigantic tar belt. She can only hope he makes it out alive in the end.

But with the network up and running, Higgs can't visit her as often without someone from the UCA noticing. Each time he wants to enter her bunker, he somehow drops the network connection so he can remain inside undetected. Those meetings are brief, almost like how it was in the very beginning, and it tugs at her heartstrings in the worst of ways.

Touch-starved and attention-deprived are too kind for the words meant to describe how she feels. She's in too deep now, the tar has swallowed her whole.

A willing victim.

Morana hates herself more than she hates him. She wants nothing more than to rage at him, scream and cry and hit and wrend flesh beneath her fingernails. But she can't. You cannot kill a _god_.

The sound of draining energy signals his return, gives her time to save the files she's been working on for Heartman in local storage before Higgs' prying eyes can find it. Not like it would really stop him, but it's the thought that counts. Soon enough, he's jumped inside and stands proudly in the center of the bunker, like he owns the damn place. At this point, he probably does.

With greater time between each visit, Morana is able to provide more research than before. A stack of drives are neatly piled together at the corner of her desk as she waits in front of it, leaned back with her hands clasped atop crossed legs. She's hoping he'll take the drives and leave, keep the conversation to a minimum. It's so much easier that way.

For a moment, she thinks she gets her wish as Higgs walks towards the desk, grabbing the stack and tucking it into a pouch. But then he shifts to the side and blocks her from getting away by leaning down and putting his hands flat on the wooden surface. Her tired eyes stare up at him, dread washes over her face, hands sliding back to brace against the edge of the desk.

"Something the matter, _sweetheart_?" He looks so fucking _pleased_ with himself, able to instill such reactions from her with little effort. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

His grin is wild, feral, more of a baring of teeth than anything else. He wants to challenge her, get her to fight back so he can hurt her more. Wants to crush her spirit into nothing, only to rebuild it however he sees fit.

Morana laughs despite herself, a weak sound. "If anything, I'm more of a ghost than you are."

She is. She haunts her own home now, longing for something that could never be, will never be. Drifts around the material plane no better than a BT, without the horrific wailing of course. The silence of her solitary life is loud enough.

It's not the reaction Higgs wanted, but he's adaptable. He makes a show of raising his odradek, the gentle beeps of a scan indicate that no spectral beings were nearby. The metal appendage folds back in on itself. "See? There's _nothing_ to be afraid of."

She knows he's messing with her without a doubt, gaslighting the suppressed thoughts in her head to send them right to the forefront. That ugly thing inside her wants to believe him, pleads for a small shred of _something_ good to come from all of this.

He takes it a step further when she doesn't respond in kind and detaches his BB pod, setting it down on the far end of the desk. When he leans back in, he's able to move closer, legs on either side of hers. The space is fraught with tension, weighing down on her chest, her throat, her subconscious.

"You know I wouldn't do that if I didn't think you were _safe_." His hand lifts up, presses cool leather against her warm cheek, and she feels the twitch in her neck muscles that urge her to lean into the contact. She restrains herself but just barely.

"I've _always_ made sure you were safe, haven't I." It's not a question, but a statement of fact, driving another nail into her coffin.

"You have," comes her whispered answer, gaze still trained on him, hazel eyes glassy from unshed tears.

"I know, you've done _so_ much for me in return, right." He's nudging her along, melding her responses to his will.

"I have."

"And I know how hard you've worked through all of this, it's been so _taxing_ , hasn't it."

She nods and tries not to burrow her face into his palm. A single tear breaches the surface and tumbles down her untouched cheek.

Higgs can't help himself, the bastard that he is. Bracing his free hand on her shoulder, he drags the flat of his tongue along the tear's trail. He relishes in the salt of her defeat and the breathy whine that claws its way out of her chest. Her eyes shut, letting another tear loose that touches his tongue before he lifts his head away.

She's so ready to break, she's barely holding herself together.

"You've been such a _good girl_ , Morana."

She feels his words more than hears them, vibrating up from his chest right against hers, jostles the synapses in her brain that cling to the remnants of her sanity. The praise is enough to kill her.

"Th-thank you," she chokes out past a stifled sob. It's vile, expressing such gratitude to someone so undeserving. But she's not sure what else to do.

Lips press to the wetness at the outer corner of her eye. She feels Higgs withdraw slowly and chances a glance upward, spies him licking his lips clean.

"Oh, you're _very_ welcome." Haughty fucker, he takes his sweet time reattaching his BB to the front harness before fully stepping away from her.

Morana makes a beautiful sight like this. Pale skin tinged to a rosy pink, eyes wide with a flurry of emotions, knuckles turned white from gripping the desk too hard. He's undeniably eager to drag her down fully right now, but he must be patient. It's inevitable -- he just wants her to feel responsible for it all.

With a cryptic smile and a wiggle of his fingers, he vanishes.

\---

Morana knows she's never made great decisions.

That fact is only exacerbated by her long-time partnership with Higgs.

A terrorist. A monster in human flesh. A false god.

But she can't bring herself to let go of their last meeting. It replays in vivid memory constantly, while she's eating or sleeping or working. Mind, body, and soul continue to battle each other, mostly with the former failing to hold its ground in the conflict. Each day she doesn't see him is another step closer to her metaphorical grave.

(That twisted part of her heart wants her to not get cremated. Wants her to necrotize, become a BT, and join Higgs forever on the Beach.)

Time bleeds the weeks into nothingness. It's only filled with work and basic necessities. Normally she would have shaken herself out of this funk, but whatever he did to her _really_ messed her up. She's just thankful she's functioning enough that it goes relatively unnoticed by Heartman or any UCA official.

Sleep is a fickle thing but Morana tries her hardest to find some rest. But she's half-awake most nights, sheets a tangled mess around her legs. Tonight is no different, the dead quiet deafening. Yet the whirring down of power shocks her upright, messy dark hair falling around her shoulders and face. Seconds pass, the longest they've ever been, and he's _here_.

Caught between flinging herself from bed and covering herself with the sheet, she's rooted to the spot as her eyes adjust to the dark. The dim, blue glow of electronics offer just enough light for her to make out his imposing figure.

He hasn't said a word, which immediately sets her on edge. She's used to the snark, hell even the cordiality. But when he's silent and contemplative, it's deadly.

Something inside her snaps at his nonreactive behavior, enough to boil her blood and expend the last bit of rage within her body. Without a second thought, she springs from bed and launches herself at Higgs. He lets her, doesn't even dodge, allows the onslaught of uncoordinated punches and jabs and kicks against him.

And, god, Morana _hates_ him more than ever, because he's not doing _anything_. Just has her carry on her tantrum. She wails obscenities at him, spills her regrets like a confession, cries for something she doesn't name, can't name.

Her assault only ends when she sends her fist into the side of the BB pod, unyielding metal meeting bone. She stumbles back a bit, rubs the smarting knuckles, and uses the moment to catch her breath.

"You finished?" He chides her like a parent to a child.

She smacks the smile right off his pretty mouth.

His head whips to the side upon impact, his tongue running along teeth and gums instinctively. A kohl-lined eye looks back to her in his periphery, arched brow hidden by the hood.

"No, I'm not," she says between clenched teeth, "but what the _fuck_ do you want?"

Higgs wipes at his mouth with forefinger and thumb, takes his time pondering this whole situation. "I think the better question, sweetheart, is what do _you_ want?"

She glares up at him, visibly seething, chest heaving with each breath. It's a question she's avoided for ages now, one she wouldn't allow herself to answer. One that tore her open, exposed every raw nerve to the unrelenting truth.

So Morana sheds the vestiges of her dignity, reaches out to grab at the clasp of his cloak, and tugs him down to her level, their lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Her teeth are unforgiving, as are his, greedy to leave as many marks as possible. His gloved hands grip the sides of her neck, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of her neck, thumbs tucking under the corners of her jaw. He could probably feel the rapid pace of her heart, pumping a death knell into her veins. 

There's a rush of activity and a jumble of limbs, divesting Higgs of his equipment mid-kiss, pod and odradek and armor finding a new home on the bunker floor. Her tank and briefs follow suit, but that's as far as they get before he hoists her up and devours her in another searing kiss.

They end up at the edge of her bed with her straddling his waist, hips pushing down directly onto his unabashedly, hands bunching the fabric of his shirt to draw him closer still. Gloved fingers dig into soft skin, eager to imprint themselves deep enough to touch bone. His arousal is just as evident as hers, a damp spot left on a covered bulge that she grinds down onto harder. The involuntary buck of his hips upwards is a victory she could cling onto forever.

Higgs doesn't give her time to celebrate, however, because he reaches between them, fusses with fastenings for a moment, pulls himself free with a strangled groan. He breaks the kiss, takes her bottom lip along with him then lets it go with a soft pop. His thumb collects the small amount of saliva glistening on her lip and wipes it off on the head of his cock. And then-

It happens so suddenly it knocks the wind out of her. She's excited, sure, but without preparation, especially for someone his _size_ , it's quite paralyzing. Although he's polite enough to let her sit and adjust to the fullness, it feeds into his narcissism to watch her twitch and squirm. A laugh rumbles deep in his chest at her helplessness. She lifts her hand, poised to deliver another sharp hit across his face, but he clutches her petite wrist just in time.

He tsks, slowly shaking his head. "You only get one, Morana."

His teeth sink into the tender nerves of her inner wrist, causing her to gasp and her hips to roll in his lap, which only turns that sound into a pathetic whine. His other hand kneads into the flesh of her ass, guiding her to repeat that same motion, while rocking in rhythm underneath. She shudders hard, body unused to these heightened sensations.

"That's right, sweetheart, just like _that_."

Her hands find purchase on his cloak, but the hood still remains up, left side drooping down to just barely cover his eye. Their pace picks up with his control over her hips and gradually the pleasure outweighs the pain. It never fully goes away, but she's okay with that, reminds her she's still alive despite being in the hands of a beast.

Speaking of…

"H-Higgs," she stammers through the whimpers, "can you- the, the ma- _fuck_ …!"

"Oh, you _poor thing_. What do you want?"

(She wants to punch him again for being able to speak so clearly through all of this. And for that honey-dripping _drawl_.)

"The mask." Her eyes open, not having realized they'd been closed for some time, and she looks to him with such obvious desperation. "Put it on."

An odd request, but he concedes nonetheless, phasing the golden mask into a hand then slides it on over his face. Immediately her fingers trail along the skeletal features, the academic in her cataloging each divot and suture and gleaming tooth, burns the feel of it into her skin.

Fascination takes hold of Morana. She leans in to lick across the edge of the mandible, up the canines, to the zygoma that leads her right to his actual cheekbone, warm flesh replacing cold metal. The resonating growl that erupts from Higgs is yet one more small triumph she will claim in this losing battle. She pushes her luck, presses a sensual kiss on the incisors and he gives a particularly hard thrust upward into her.

He seems to have had enough of her being on top, in pseudo-control, since he gathers her up in his arms and stands, still inside her. They flip so she lands on her back in bed while he hovers over her, feet planted on the floor. He grabs behind her knee with one hand, the other skims up the center of her torso, her body arching into the touch.

"You want a _monster_ , sweetheart?" His voice echoes in the mask and it just _does things_ to her; he feels it in the clench of wet warmth around him. His palm ends at the front of her neck, long fingers encircling as he cages her in, pins her down. He squeezes just enough to make it a threat, her ragged breathing and jackrabbit heart beat increasing. Fear sparks amidst the lust flooding her expression. It's sublime.

" _Then I'll give you a monster_."

He slams into her without remorse, nearly shoving her across the bed, does it again and again and _again_. Morana keens, a pitched sound that fills the bunker, fingers curling hard into the sheets, but never takes her eyes off him.

She can't, he's too beautiful like this. Unhinged. Ruthless. Everything she knows he is and more.

Higgs tightens his hand on her throat, cuts off her cries and her oxygen, makes her focus on the brutal fucking he gives her. And that's what it is, fucking. There's nothing romantic in their combined disorder, never has been, even if a part of her wants it. Aches for what will never be. So Morana will happily take his fury, his wickedness, his destruction.

His rough groans and growls are only amplified by the mask, sends shivers racing down her spine, prickles her skin, makes her writhe deliciously under him. Everything is too much and not enough and, oh _fuck_ , there's blackness creeping in on her vision.

Air abruptly fills her lungs, but it's short lived, because he covers her lips with his, forces his tongue into her mouth and rubs it along her own. He must have tossed the mask away somewhere, but she doesn't get a chance to linger on the semantics. Instead, she almost chokes from his roughness, adjusts the tilt of her head to push back, but ends up with a sharp canine in her lower lip. Soft skin breaks easily, she yelps, but it's so weak he doesn't even take notice, just presses his tongue against the wound, seeking that metallic tang.

Higgs rears back, spine straight while his hips continue to bruise against her inner thighs, delights in the image she makes before him. Corded muscle tensing beneath flushed, sweat-shined skin, wild dark locks splayed around her head like a black halo, the stark crimson running a thin line from pallid lips. _Oh_ , and how her cunt hugs tightly around him, draws him back in with such urgency, the slickness that produces such filthy sounds, a steady beat to accompany her litany of whines.

And it's all _his_.

The buildup of heat and pressure in her lower belly is becoming too overbearing to ignore. He's hit every single sweet spot inside her with each thrust, her overworked and underused nerves can only handle so much. Morana can't stop the begging that escapes her in a rush of breath. "Pl-please, _fuck_ \- I can't hold… _God_ , please, just- I need to, Higgs, _please_!"

Despite the furious pace he's set, he smiles slow and relaxed, like he's got all the time in the world. And yeah, maybe he does, so why not torment her for just a little longer? A leather-clad thumb passes close to her clit, teases her with the hope he'll press down on the sensitive bundle of nerves, relieve her of this painful ache. His other hand carves divots into her hip, the promise of a patchwork of marks come morning.

"You're so _fucking pretty_ when you beg."

She answers only with a broken moan.

That traitorous digit keeps slipping past where she wants it the most, forces her to chase after the feeling with her hips, bucking upwards and pushing him just _that_ much more inside her. And it does nothing but frustrate her more, yet another thing she can't have.

He lays on top of her and holds her down with his stature, sliding that hand up to cup her jaw. It's so tender, she doesn't want to trust it, knowing the violence he can inflict without hesitation, but she leans into it anyway. He licks the remaining blood from her kiss-swollen lip, savors it with a satisfied hum.

"You come on my cock or nothing at all." A warning, a threat, he whispers against her temple, then doubles his effort in fucking her into the mattress.

Morana clings to him like a lifeline, even though she knows he's just going to drag her further into the depths, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. Her voice is shot, her cries cracking disjointedly, the only thing she manages to squeak out is an incoherent string of _please_ and _Higgs_ and _fuck_.

In three more thrusts, he knocks her over the edge and she falls.

A part of her dies as she breaks for him, cradling death in her heart like a warm embrace. And maybe there's something poetic about it, finally living up to her namesake. The self-inflicted plague that ate her away from the inside out. The death she was always meant to be, not for others but for herself.

He follows suit soon after, encouraged by the impossible tightness constricting around him. He doesn't pull out. Buries himself deeper still, grinds out the waves of pleasure, moan stifled from biting harshly into the side of her neck, striking against nerves and tissues alike. Claims her inside and out.

"Good girl."

The praise makes her soul sing, head still hazy and floaty as she eases down from her high. She's so tingly and warm and _full_.

She hates it. She loves it.

Some time passes and they slowly untangle their limbs and clean up. Higgs rights his clothes and reassembles his equipment. Morana learns how to walk again and ambles toward the shower. He catches her by the wrist before she steps in, prompting her to face him fully. He steals one more kiss, hand pressing against the throbbing bite mark on her neck, and grins against her lips at her weak whine.

He's gone without a word and the network connection returns.

No one calls her immediately about being offline for probably an hour, which is a little disheartening but she'll count it as a blessing this time. The shower offers the solace she needs to contemplate all that had transpired between them.

One thing does remain certain: Morana knows she's never made great decisions.

**Author's Note:**

> Jessica Mitford is a journalist who wrote a compelling book about funerary home businesses in America, [The American Way of Death.](https://www.amazon.com/American-Way-Death-Revisited/dp/B0076IK4JQ/ref=asc_df_B0076IK4JQ/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=346620673138&hvpos=1o1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=15014872993965090151&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9012101&hvtargid=pla-730740721169&psc=1&tag=&ref=&adgrpid=67830888897&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvadid=346620673138&hvpos=1o1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=15014872993965090151&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9012101&hvtargid=pla-730740721169) I highly recommend it.
> 
> And yes I intentionally gave my OC a full name that means "death cord/rope". If Kojima can have a character named Die-Hardman, I can have this.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


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